By The Persimmons
by Eyeglasses
Summary: He saved her life, and in turn, she made him live his. A multi-chapter fic for GinRan, set in an AU where everyone is technically alive and Zanpakutos exist as weapons with no soul.


For all he could know, he was truly dead and gone. Not that it mattered, as he was well off alone, and even in his loneliest moments, he still preferred the solitude that his shack and small lot (even as a child, he claimed the wilderness around the dilapidated thing that he called home) offered.

But that seemed years, no, perhaps a _lifetime_ past. Or if he'd care so much as to exaggerate his present feelings, he might as well say that his former loneliness was well and done for lifetimes ago. His world reached out—or so it looked to him—beyond the boundaries of the stone and wood and rain and snow that his poor life had. For even in poverty, he was not alone; and while the idea of company that stayed not only for a _short_ while but for a _long_ time was awkward at first, the boy has to admit that it was likable.

The famished girl that Gin met one cold afternoon at the abandoned crossroads is to be blamed for all the twists and turns of fate, but he was thankful.

_Rangiku_ was her name, he remembered. As if a budding flower, she was blooming even in her early youth. Gin deemed that they were almost of the same age—not quite the lively teens, and neither like the innocent children.

He would give her whatever food was available, be it the dried persimmons that the boy loved or some of the stored fruit and grain from the makeshift garden, and the girl would limply receive them (she ate them voraciously, however; he saw her wolf down the persimmon, and suffice to say that he was horrified to see a _girl_ eat like that, when he as a boy ate so little). The nights were cold and eerily silent; the days, though warm and abuzz with life, were laced with strain and maybe a hint of fear.

"I don't bite y'know." The usual silence was broken by his words, but the tension remained. The boy turned back to Rangiku from tending to the fire, his eyes—still in slits—as soft as he could muster them to be. "But...if it's 'bout my eyes, then I think that I always like 'em this way." He could swear to any god out there that he did not mean to sound scary, and tried to look and sound as sympathetic as he can be, but if he had to be brutally honest with himself, Gin could admit that he was too tired of the hushed atmosphere.

_Am I really that intimidating to her? Maybe she wanted to go back to her home and I'm just forcin' her to stay? _

Gin noticed that Rangiku clutched at what was her skirt, her gaze not to him nor to the warm fire but to the wooden floor, or what remained patched and fixed of it. "D'ya wanna go home?"

"I don't have a house to go to," she mumbled back, and the sadness of her tone just added to the tension in the air. "I'm sorry if I stayed here."

"No, no!" Guilt took to itself to form fangs and pang its way to his gut, and he cannot stomach the revolting mess that was his insides. "Ya can stay here always, Rangiku! But, y'know, ya can always talk 'bout things...or anythin', really." Gin frowned and shook his head, dissuading his qualms and attempting to be as calm as possible (he was, after all, a kid, and a young lone wolf at that). "To be honest, I'm glad I have someone as company. And maybe, if ya feel alone, I hope I can return the favour, y'know. Somehow."

The boy avoided her sullen figure and the confused expression that she carried, instead content to gaze to the small garden outside and note on what meagre crops are almost ripe. _...Ah!_ An idea flashed to his mind, and so Gin turned back to Rangiku. "I have some fruits there that are ready to pick, maybe tomorrow. Would it be too bad if I ask ya out to help me?"

They were still far apart, he realized as they headed for bed that night, but at least, he got a nod from her. _Would that mean a yes?_ Gin unabashedly hoped so.

* * *

_His name is Gin. _

She could still recall the name, truly. Cold, sometimes calculating (to her), a bit too much aloof for his own good, or so she thought he was. In all honesty Rangiku was far too afraid to talk to the boy, for cause of not wanting to be kicked out. She loved his home, broken and old as it may be, and envious of the boy, that a fellow orphan like him was more than well off than the girl could ever be before she met him. So were her long lapses and the awkward stillness between them, until it was all but rendered apart the previous night.

Rangiku could not be any more surprised and mortified by his words. It had been on her, the girl thought, that she could not make more than simple thanks from the day that he rescued her. Maybe he implied that she should be grateful he saved her from starvation. _Was it?_ That would be too harsh, even for someone like Gin.

It was yet another summer day, and unlike the span of weeks that preceded it, the day was nigh agonizingly hot and humid. All the more so that the house was made of patches of a variety of wood and hastily cloistered rocks, as the wind could not go beyond the walls unless made to go through the door instead.

She was unbearable, truly. Even to Gin, who had to go through her anxious gestures and shaky replies. Nevertheless, Rangiku had it in her to stay, and help him whenever and in any way she can. The girl had it in her head to be even with all the help that the boy gave her.

So she stood from what they called a mat and went outside, and far to her surprise was the sight of him treading along what can be seen as a path through his little grounds, just taking his time by inspecting what little plants he can have for the gathering. One hand was steady on the doorframe, the other just reaching to the former's wrist; it, too, held on to the wood.

A surge of confidence burst to her lungs with the first breath of morning, and odd as it may seem, Rangiku felt compelled to keep her nod true. _A step, then another. Yeah, straight to the stairs and down._ The sweet scent of river and earth was a pleasant greeting to her senses, and all the more did she go down, earthy aromas egging her on. The look on Gin's thin face appeared like one of surprise and relief, and indubitably it was so.

Rangiku kept to herself at first, but her eyes brightly called to Gin's.

"I did say I'm gonna help you out."

She will not recount whatever happened afterwards (suffice to say that what started as an uncomfortable string of events turned out fine), but at least the tension vanished.


End file.
